


Just a Taste of Temptation

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Ground Zero [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing no other alternative, Bruce brings Harley and the Joker up to his Penthouse for the remained of the night to recover. But if he thought the night held temptation, he wasn't ready for what he found that morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Taste of Temptation

The elevator ride up from the cave to the Penthouse felt like it too hours. They hadn’t woken Harley yet, and she slept on in Bruce;s arms as he cradled her. The Joker just leaned against the hand rail in the elevator and seemed to study his face, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile from time to time.

When they walked out, Alfred greeted them, despite being told to get some rest himself- and the shock in his eyes made Bruce inwardly cringe. The man never seemed to actually show shock.

“Sir-“

“Not now, Alfred,” he said, tried. “I’ll explain...later. For now, let’s get Harley here into a bed.”

“Very well sir, I’ll go prepare one of the guest rooms.” He turned and left them, the Joker wondering off into the parlor as he did so. Bruce frowned and followed him- hands tightening on the sleeping woman in his arms.

The Joker had flopped down on one of the couches, his leg lifted up and resting along the top. He grinned when Bruce looked- let his eyes linger just a moment too long at the way it parted his thighs.

“Like what you _seeeee_ ¸Bats?” He winked, and Bruce turned away from him, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment to pull himself together.

“Sir?” Alfred called from down the hall, and Bruce went towards the voice, eager to get away from the temptation that the Joker so easily embodied.

The clown sighed when Bruce was gone, closing his eyes and just listening. He should have gone with him, he supposed, to make sure Harley was settled in alright, but he wasn’t too worried about that. He was sure _Bruce_ was a lovely host.

When Bruce came back, the Joker kept his eyes closed, listened to his footsteps, to his breath in the silent room.

“She’s sleeping still,” he said, staring down at the Joker. “Alfred ahs finally gone to bed, too.”

“So it’s just you and me, Brucie baby.” He cracked open one green eye, grinned, and opened the other to stare up at Bruce. “Why don’t you come down here and we can continue what we, ah, started down in your _cave_.”

Bruce wanted to retort- wanted to let his tongue lose on this man, but _damn_ he was frozen and _nearly_ tempted. He shook his head, swallowed the lump in his throat.

“It’s late, I’m tired. We need to get you set up in a room.”

“Your bed would be _fiiine_ , sugar.”

“No way in hell.” He extended his hand to the Joker, who clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, before taking it and accepting the help up. “Now-“

“Just take me to Harley,” he said, his voice losing its sing-song quality, his mouth set in a straight line. Bruce hesitated a moment- and inwardly cursed as to _why_. He didn’t want the Joker trying to crawl into _his_ bed- right- _right_?- but he didn’t like the idea of him crawling into bed with Harley. Which he knew the man had done countless times- yet, even that little bit of intimacy, of falling asleep next to her, suddenly made the pit of Bruce’s stomach tighten uncomfortably and he wondered _if this was jealousy_.

Having no other choice, unless he were to go back on his word and beg the madman to bed down with him, he led him down the hall to the room he had placed Harley in- but kept that gloved hand in his, clutching it, not wanting to let go because this night had been _crazy_ and suddenly he was Bruce in front of the one man who he could never tame- and he was still _breathing_.

That hand was anchoring him down- letting him know this was real.

He opened the door and the Joker leaned against the frame, bringing that bare hand up to his painted lips and kissing the fingertips.

A silently mockery of what Bruce _could_ have had.

And then he was walking away, working his vest off, and Bruce had to close the door because something _hurt_ and he was losing himself to what- he didn’t know. He just leaned his head on the door and closed his eyes and wanted to wake up and dream a different dream- one that wasn’t so complicating.

He slept fitfully after he had finally worked all his suit off- after he had changed the bandage on his thigh which was throbbing now- after he curled up alone in bed and tried to lie to himself that he was just _fine_ like this, that he was over worked and tired and stressed and otherwise he’d _never_ even think about the Joker in the ways that he was.

When Bruce woke up in the morning, for a moment it was all gone- there was nothing except a bland morning after a rough night, there were no special “guests” in his penthouse. And then he blinked, sat up and stretched, let his brain connected to his subconscious, and he remembered those hands in his hair and that mouth and the feeling in his gut from when the Joker had turned and walked away.

Minimal space away, the Joker lay in bed with an alert Harley, her blonde hair tussled against the pillows as she arched delicately and his hands grasped her thighs- his scarred mouth set to work between them in an oddly _delicate_ way that- had his Bat actually seen- he wouldn’t have believed.

With a sighed, “Mista Jaaaay,” she was gone, pretty eyes rolled back in her head as her muscles tensed and then melted into his hands. A smirk on his lips- because he was _so_ good at this, because he knew just how to make her come undone over and over and _over_ again because he held every special part of her in his scarred hands- he lifted his head to watched her naked chest rise in fall as she tried to catch her breath.

“Good to see you’re still _a-live_ ,” he said, leaving a lazy kiss on her navel as he crawled up her to lay next to her, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Did I scare ya for a second, Puddin?” she asked, rolling over and grinning, tracing her finger in delicate, random patterns on his chest. He chuckled.

“Not _you_.” But the slight quiver in his voice told her it was a lie- because, as much as he knew her, Harley knew parts of precious scarred mind as well. He created her, but he had to give something to her in the exchange.

And that concern was startling- though she hid it well. She had begun to stop _fooling_ herself that that he loved her- she wasn’t sure she even cared at this point- so long as he was _there_ , she was content.

The surprises like when she was woken up with his mouth between her thighs were just a bonus.

He didn’t stay next to her long- he was up and pacing about quickly- in nothing but those purple pants so should could trace the scars she knew so well with her eyes.

“Just go,” she said with a roll of her eyes, reaching for her shirt- which had this point was tattered enough to barely constitute being called such- and pulling it over her head. “I’m sure Bats is up.” She snuggled down under the blanket, wincing a bit as the massive bruising on her ribs was pressed into the bed. “I ache too much to move yet.”

He eyed her for a moment- then said nothing and was gone, leaving her to close her eyes and wonder if Ivy had had a night as eventful as she had.

The Joker slipped out of the room and closed the door, listening to the sounds around him. He could hear something in the distance- a bubbling, _coffee pot_ , and he walked down the hallway back into the parlor. He let his hand glide along one of the backs of the couches before he pulled away and headed to the window. He parted the curtain with one hand and leaned his hip against the slight ledge, watching Gotham from above.

It made him smirk to think he was staring at _so many_ unsuspecting people in the middle of daylight- just watching them go to and fro pointless jobs and useless marriages- and he wondered about their vices, mentally picking people apart by the way they walked. _Him, yes, he’s got a drinking problem. That one- she’s sleeping with her boss. And him? Ah, he goes it with his wife’s brother every Thursday when she goes to her book club._

He heard someone clear their throat, and turned his head. Bruce was standing a few feet back- looking as if he just didn’t know how to act, eyes watching but looking away every few moments. The Joker let his hand fall down and the curtain close, the sliver of light that had lit the room disappearing, bathing it in a cool dimness.

Bruce walked over, holding a mug in each of his hands. He held one out to the Joker, who raised one eyebrow, then took it, fingers wrapping around the warm porcelain- the heat itself was divine, his fingers were cold- _he_ was cold in his little clothing.

“Coffee,” Bruce said, as the scent drifted up to the Joker’s nose. “I thought...you might-“

“How... _sweet_ ,” he said, letting the corners of his lips turn up. “Thinking of lil ‘ole me, Bats. You’re getting soft.” He chuckled to himself. “I’ll give it to Harley, she’ll be _thankful_ for a, ah, pick me up.”

“You-“

“I don’t drink the stuff,” he said, daring to inch just a bit closer. “Too much for my, ah, head. Migraines.” He tapped his temple, then reached out and let his hand rest against Bruce’s arm. “You might know that if you read my file from Arkham closer, rich boy.”

Bruce didn’t say anything- felt oddly shot down that his one little human gesture was in vain. But that hand on his arm was nice, he hated to admit.

“If you can’t drink the coffee,” he said, “can you at least _eat_? Or is that too human of a thing for you?”

The Joker laughed and leaned closer- let his lips brush against Bruce’s cheek in a rather affectionate, chaste kiss- and the playboy felt the color surge to his cheeks, but he took that as a yes.

“She’s a little thing, she’ll drown in your clothing.”

Bruce frowned, was rifling through one of his closets as the Joker sat _on his bed_ , watching. The clown had delivered the coffee to a drowsy Harley, and Bruce had decided that moment he needed to get her something less _ragged_ to wear.

“I don’t keep women’s clothing lying around,” Bruce retorted, and the Joker pulled his legs up onto the bed and laid down.

“With all those women I’ve seen you with? I’m shocked about _that_ , Bruce darling.”

Bruce gritted his teeth but chose to ignore the clown, who fell into silence until Bruce was finally done, and had found a plain deep blue t-shirt he thought Harley could at least wear over her jeans. He headed towards the door, waited a moment, and realized the Joker hadn’t moved yet.

“Coming?” Bruce asked, and the man chuckled softly.

_Not yet I’m not._

When he didn’t respond Bruce walked back over, dropping the shirt on the foot of his bed and staring down at the Joker, who had closed his eyes. He cracked one opened and grinned.

“How about a hand _up_ , Bats?”

Bruce sighed and reached out, and the moment that scarred hand had his, the Joker jerked with all his force back, making Bruce stumble and fall against the bed- partially on it. The Joker wrapped his arms around him to keep him from getting up, letting their mouths crash together in a graceless kiss that knocked the breath from Bruce’s lungs.

Before Bruce could move, the Joker was tugging on him, and dammit he was climbing up onto the bed over him, laying against him and letting their legs entangle as those obscenely curved hips pressed up into him and created a fiction his suit had _never_ allowed. Bruce gasped into his mouth and the Joker twisted his fingers into his hair, holding him steady as he devoured him, opened his mouth with his tongue and tasted every pore and space inside, drank him down and drowned and inwardly laughed at the floating feeling inside his belly.

“F-fuck,” Bruce muttered against the man’s mouth- embarrassingly hard, and without his suit to hide it, the clown knew. _He knew_.

“Why don’t we stay in here a few more minutes,” he mumbled, lazily kissing Bruce’s jaw. “I _know_ you want to, sugar. I can, ah, _feel_ it.”

And Bruce _did want to_ , that was his problem. Without a suit, without the night calling to him, Bruce had no excuses. Harley was content in bed with her coffee, she could wait. Alfred had gone down to the cave to clean up from the night before- there was nowhere and nothing Bruce had to do in that very second, no logical reason to pull himself away from this man except that he was _insane_ and a _murderer_ and had the destruction of Gotham at the top of his plans.

Well, maybe second to the top. Bruce was beginning to think _he_ was at the top of the Joker’s to do list.

“I can hear your brain turning,” he mumbled against Bruce’s neck now. “Turn it off for a bit Bats and just _enjoy_.”

And Bruce listened.

He left the Joker roll them over, until he was pinned, and one of his hands was pushing up under his t-shirt and over his sculpted abdomen and chest, fingers sending little twinges of energy and desire through his skin, to find nerve endings to make their way to his brain and his cock. Grinning the whole time, the Joker left his other hand slip beneath the waistband of Bruce’s sweatpants- and as sexy as that Batsuit was, he was fairly thankful for such a weak barrier- and palmed his sex through his underwear- grin broadening when he realized _just how hard_ Bruce was already.

He leaned down, stretched so that hands was nearly clawing at Bruce’s chest and pressed his face into the overly soft fabric, nuzzled and kissed through it and sent Bruce’s breath escaping in a shaky second. He dragged his hand down to the hem of Bruce’s pants, his nails leaving angry red marks on such smooth skin, and he was pulling those sweatpants down and gripping the waistband of Bruce’s underwear as well, before the playboy could protest, because he could do that damn _thinking_ again.

When Bruce’s cock was freed, it bobbed up and bumped the Joker’s chin and he giggled, his breath hot and rushing against sensitive flesh. Bruce closed his eyes, because he couldn’t watch, not as that mouth- it was unpainted, and he’d been so nervous this whole time he hadn’t noticed the Joker’s lack of paint- opened and those lips wrapped around the head, sucking gently before he swallowed him down- and maybe later, after Bruce knew what breathing was and how to think and function, he’d be a bit impressed at how _easily_ this all came to the Joker.

The clown would have smiled if his mouth hadn’t been full. He placed his hands on Bruce’s hips- which bucked out of reflex- but instead of holding him down just _held on_ like he might fall off the edge of the earth if he didn’t. Bruce thrust up, met the back of his throat and his eyes rolled back behind his lids. He grasped at his blanket and _God how long had it been since he had someone suck him off_? His dates had been cut short now- and even if he _hated_ his playboy image, he’d gotten use to a certain level of sexual satisfaction that had been very lacking as of late.

Maybe that was why when the Joker’s thumbs traced patterns into his skin and his tongue ran along the underside of his cock as his head bobbed, he nearly lost himself. He was so close and it had just begun and he was _whimpering_ like this was his first time and thrusting and _God oh god_ -

The Joker looked up just as Bruce opened his eyes, as his mouth descended and his cock disappeared down his throat, and Bruce lost it- the sight more than anything throwing him over the edge. He gave a sharp cry and jerked up and arched his head back as his body muscles convulsed, as the Joker swallowed and nearly choked and loved the burn inside his head. When Bruce collapsed back to the bed, panting, the Joker was kind enough to pull his clothing back into place before he straddled his hips and looked down at him, hands playing with the hem of his own pants, pushing them down just a bit to expose more pale, scarred skin.

And then Bruce heard Alfred calling- his words were inaudible- but it was like he was a teenager again, nearly caught in the act, and he was blushing and the Joker was just laughing.

“You owe me one, Bats,” he said, winking and sliding off him, bare feet sinking into the carpet. Bruce sat up, his head spinning, and the clown turned and wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning against him. “Can’t deny that wasn’t _soooo_ bad, ah, Batsy baby?”

And Bruce didn’t say anything because it was _true_.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, fic number 6! I'm realizing as much as I'd like hasn't happened yet. Next fic, plot advancement, and not just a bit of smut! But this was coming, we all knew :)


End file.
